Faking It Maybe
by Racoda Moonshine
Summary: When a case calls the duo to Brighton thanks to the disappearances of homosexual victims, they must pose as a couple to lure out the kidnapper. However pretending to be in love when actually secretly in love gets tricky and maybe a little bit too comfortable.
1. The Case

**_The Case_**

* * *

_John, would you be able to get a week off work? – SH_

**A week? Sarah wouldn't be too happy, with it being flu season, but I'm sure I could try. What for? – JW**

_A case has come up. Brighton. Asked for us specifically according to Lestrade – SH_

**Alright, well I don't suppose I really have a choice. Can't have myself substituted with Greg again, we all know how that went last time. I'm sure I can get the week off – JW**

_That was his own fault, he shouldn't be so squeamish but it's much appreciated, John – SH_

**So what's so important they need us specifically then? – JW**

_Seven disappearances. Connecting factor being a hotel – SH_

**Brilliant. So they're linked by the hotel? – JW**

_Yes – SH_

**We can't say we don't get the interesting ones, I guess. Told Sarah we're on police business again, I get the week off starting in ten minutes. When are we needed? – JW**

_Tonight. Only the Brighton police force know we will be coming, the hotel staff and owner will think us just normal customers – SH_

**...We're staying in the hotel? – JW**

_Yes, also we're to act as a couple – SH_

**You're insane, I'm insane for going along with this – JW**

_The missing people are also linked by their sexual preferences. They're all openly homosexual – SH_

**So we're going to be bait? Openly gay couple bait? – JW**

_Yes John, I see no problem with that. Do you? – SH_

**No, no, no problem, I mean, it'll stop more disappearances if we catch the criminal so whatever we have to do – JW**

_Exactly. I've already books us a room. For purposes of our charade relationship our story will be much the same as the facts, how we met, being flatmates and such. Obviously we'll add that we fell in love and our cover is that we're on holiday because it will be our year anniversary in two days – SH_

**Right, makes sense. I'll catch a cab and make my way back then, if we're needed tonight – JW**

_I have already finished packing, I only wait for you – SH_

**Shouldn't take all too long, half an hour tops – JW**

_Very good – SH_

* * *

John hopped out of the cab on Baker Street and paid the driver - something that was becoming an increasing occurrence since living with Sherlock - before moving up to the all too familiar black front door. He let himself in and started shedding his jacket on the stairs up to the flat. He couldn't believe he was going to have to do this.

All for the name of the case, of course, but he couldn't shake the frustrating buzz in the back of his mind that was making him doubt he was agreeing with this completely in the name of all that was good and just. John shook the thought from his mind as he placed his jacket on the hook on the back of the door, scanning around the flat for his genius flatmate.

"Sherlock?"

Said genius flatmate came out from his bedroom, carrying his own packed case and an empty one for John. He set them both down on the floor.

"Hello, John," he said as he looked at the other man. He moved through to the kitchen, having to deal with several experiments that wouldn't keep a week.

"I'm putting complete faith in your acting ability, you do realise that?" John called through to the kitchen, lumping the empty case over his shoulder as he watched the taller man flit around his experiments, "I mean, we pass just by walking down the street, but this is different. Not that I need to be telling you that, but I guess I'm just checking you know what this is going to entail."

He really didn't want to think about it, not in depth, but his brain was filling his head with all sorts of possibilities.

John physically shook his head to get rid of the thoughts, moving out along the hall and halfway up the stairs, on route to packing.

"I'm well aware how to act within a relationship John!" Sherlock called back before smirking to himself.

He was going to enjoy this. It was rather amusing when John constantly had to deny rumours that they were in a relationship but now that the man would have to confirm them, and even act on them, Sherlock thought this was going to provide some interesting data about his flatmate.

"But don't worry, I shan't be requiring sex, I think that would be pushing the charade a little too far."

John went to roll his eyes as he moved up the stairs, but Sherlock's last comment seemed to stop him in his tracks. He stood there for what felt like an age before figuring that Sherlock would have heard him falter and he picked up the pace again.

He made his way up into his bedroom, cursing his bad luck that this stupid bloody case would require him to act as though he was in a relationship with his bloody brilliant, attractive-_**No.**_

John sat down on the corner of his bed and ruffled his hands through his hair.

Think objectively.

It's a case, not a week away with Sherlock where this is completely normal.

It's a case...

John took a deep breath before he stood, flinging open the doors to his wardrobe and packing whatever he saw first - shirts, jeans, jumpers, underwear (obviously) - into the case provided. He packed his gun underneath his clothes and couldn't help but chuckle at how ridiculous it looked packed in beside toiletries. John zipped his case up and made his way downstairs, essentially ready to leave.

Sherlock had pulled on his coat and scarf and was now standing over by the window, looking out over London. He turned his head as John came down the stairs and watched as John wheeled the case into the hall and left it at the top of the stairs, heading back to the door to shrug his jacket back on.

"All set?"

Sherlock nodded and fetched his own case.

"Cab's waiting downstairs," Sherlock moved over, stroking his hand across John's chest as he passed him on the way down the stairs, "come on darling," he said, shooting a smirk to the other man.

John would get him back for this, one way or another of course but for now, John could show Sherlock just how well he could play this up. The consulting detective wasn't the only one with a decent acting ability, after all.

As he moved past him, John shifted forwards and tapped Sherlock's arse gently, chuckling to himself.

"Coming, honey," he retorted, rolling his eyes as he lifted his case and followed Sherlock out to the cab. If he could keep it jovial, he'd be fine.

Mostly.

Sherlock chuckled deep in his throat and opened the door to the cab, gesturing for John to get in.

"After you my sweet," he said, looking intensely into John's eyes. He had to admit that his heart had fluttered when John had touched his arse but had filed away the information that John was definitely not afraid to act using physical measures.

"Ugh, come on, that's sickly even for you. We need to agree on pet names if we're going to keep this up. If you keep doing that I'm just going to end up laughing at you every time you open your mouth," John said with a grin, shaking his head as he slid into the cab. He set his case to the left of his feet, against the furthest door, and patted the seat beside him for Sherlock to join him.

"Come on love, we're going to end up being late and I'll be too tired to indulge you if we are."

God, he was going to have to stop insinuating things, especially so bloody early into their facade.

Christ.

Sherlock smirked and slid in beside John, sitting very close. He put his own case beside his feet and closed the door, rattling off the address and town to the cabbie. As the cab set off Sherlock let his hand rest on John's thigh and he moved down to whisper in John's ear; "well, we can't have that can we?"

Bastard.

John's jaw clenched for a fraction of a second before he relaxed, shifting in towards Sherlock and putting an arm across his shoulders. They were going to have to play it up for a week, he may as well start properly now. He covered Sherlock's hand with his own, drawing a line up from this knuckles to the cuff of his shirt before moving his hand back.

"We certainly can't."

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end at the closeness, the lips right next to his ear. All he'd have to do is turn his head... How close were they going to be? How convincing? He didn't know, and he'd let Sherlock draw the line on that one.

Sherlock's other hand snaked around John's waist and smiled. This was certainly better than he'd anticipated, John going much further than he thought the man would be comfortable with. Sherlock gave John's thigh a small squeeze, running it further up slightly.

"Well, for someone who isn't gay you certainly know how to act that part very well," Sherlock purred, turning his head to look at John, his breath ghosting over the man's lips as he spoke.

"Hmm, well you can thank Harry for this. Especially recently. My dear sister has managed to worm her way under my skin, I'm surprised you didn't catch on to the confession she'd pulled out of me."

John smiled gently, tightening the arm on Sherlock's shoulders marginally.

Harry had managed to explain and shown John that he was, in fact, bisexual and had been since he was a teenager. He'd just never registered it before. Not gay, so that wasn't wholly a lie, but not one-hundred-percent straight either. He licked his lips before he knew what he was doing, but managed to hold Sherlock's gaze.

"For someone who is married to their work and doesn't do relationships, you're not doing so badly yourself."

Sherlock smirked. He had known about John's little revelation but thought it best not to mention it, instead waiting for John to feel ready to tell him. It seems his flatmate had taught him some things about manners and personal business. He chuckled and moved to press a kiss to John's neck.

"I wasn't always married to my work," he hissed into John's ear hotly before pulling back, putting some distance between them and returning to his normal state, starting to talk about the case.

John turned back to face the front of the cab as he let out a small, breathy chuckle. The detective continued to jabber on about the case and John folded his arms across his chest, leaning his head back against the head rest to listen half-heartedly.

It would be a long ride to Brighton and it had been one Hell of a day at the clinic. He didn't trust himself not to nod off if Sherlock kept talking about factors and variables and possible suspects.

Sherlock suddenly stopped talking mid sentence, as if someone had turned off a radio, and coiled his arm around John's shoulders, pulling the other man to lean against his body.

"Sleep, I'll wake you up when we get there," Sherlock said, although his voice was blank like normal and held nothing of its flirtatious nature such as before.

John rolled his head to the side in the crook of Sherlock's arm and his brow furrowed, looking up at the other from where he'd been tugged into his side. Like he was going to get anything from Sherlock's face as it was, but it never stopped him trying. Broken from his revere by a yawn, John had to agree that sleep sounded like a bloody brilliant idea.

He shifted to lean properly against the taller man, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hands before he tilted his head and pecked a small kiss to the underside of Sherlock's jaw, half on his neck. His eyes slipped closed and he yawned again, drawing Sherlock's arm across his chest for extra warmth.

"Yeah, if y'wake me up-" another yawn, "-with a smack to my forehead, I'll kill you." Sherlock gave a small chuckle and coiled his arms tighter around John, bringing him closer to share his warmth.

"I can't promise anything," he said with a smile that only just teased his lips. He pressed a small kiss onto John's forehead in return to the one he had received and let the man slowly fall asleep in his arms, smiling at how good it felt to have John so close.

Usually he hated physical contact and to be truthful, the idea of doing this with any other person made Sherlock feel nauseas but this was John and he was certainly looking forward to a week of similar positions.

John curled closer to Sherlock in his sleep, the other man surprisingly warm for once. He mumbled in his sleep, his hand finding its way onto Sherlock's stomach and fisting in his shirt.

Sherlock merely smiled and retreated to his Mind Palace, which seemed to have locked every room bar the ones he'd dedicated quite willingly to the man in his arms.

* * *

A:N - This started off life as an RP with myself and .com :) More to come! Stay tuned! xx


	2. The Hotel

**_The Hotel_**

* * *

When John awoke, the cab was still moving but the sun had faded from the sky, sinking below the horizon. John just lay there for a moment, leaning on Sherlock's chest, though he knew the other would clock he was awake.

Sherlock gave John a few moments to wake up before he tilted his head down to look at the other.

"Another ten minutes and we'll be there," he said softly, loosening his hold on John in case the man wanted to move, "I trust you slept well, although I wasn't expecting you to wake until we arrived at the hotel."

"Hmm, you and me both," John mumbled, rolling his head to the side and rubbing a hand across his face. As his palm slipped from his eyes, his gaze met Sherlock's and he smiled sleepily. This was nice, even if it was all a ruse. He could hold on to this at least, as sad as it sounded.

"You're surprisingly comfortable, just so you know."

He took his hand from Sherlock's shirt, smoothing out the creases with a few fingers and readjusting one of the buttons.

Sherlock smiled back at John, liking how utterly adorable he looked when still sleepy. He liked the feeling of John's hand on his stomach, even through his clothes and let the man continue with his ministrations.

"So, you wanted to agree what pet names to use lest you 'laugh in my face'," Sherlock said, chuckling slightly and stroking a hand over John's hair, flattening down the strands that had become dishevelled in his sleep.

John nodded slightly, laughing quietly as he shifted his stiff muscles, stretching a little as he folded one leg over the other. The hand in his hair was making it very hard to think between that sensation and the words trying to form on his tongue. He had to close his eyes to concentrate his thought pattern or he'd wind up making a complete prick of himself.

"Might be a good idea. You ever use 'my sweet' on me again and I'm going to die laughing, I swear. 'Darling' isn't too bad; I like 'love' for you, just seems a bit fitting. As long as it's nothing sickly, I reckon I'll be alright. Thoughts?"

"If you ever so much as utter 'baby', 'babe', 'sweet cheeks' or anything to that effect I will make sure to have a head in the fridge every day for a year," Sherlock said firmly but there was a smirk on his face, "I think I shall stick to 'darling' or simply call you John."

Sherlock kept his fingers running through John's hair, liking how soft it felt against his skin and noting that John hadn't asked him or made him stop.

"Kisses, I'll keep strictly to your face and not your lips as I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable, seeing as we are not in fact a real couple."

John couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed that Sherlock wanted to keep things amicable, and not go for the whole deal. But that didn't mean he couldn't, right?

Maybe.

John nodded all the same, agreeing with everything he'd said. He wasn't about to risk the heads in the fridge at any rate. He shifted up, moving Sherlock's arm around his shoulders again, and pressed his hand to his chest. He pecked a kiss to his cheek with a small, soft smile.

"Whatever you say, love."

It was stupidly easy to slip into the guise of being with Sherlock and it almost stunned him how comfortable it all was. John pecked another kiss to the side of his jaw, hoping it didn't come across like he was thoroughly enjoying this, before settling back into his side and watching as the coast flashed past the cab windows.

Sherlock smiled and tightened his hold on John slightly. He covered John's hand on his chest with his own and watched out of John's side window so that he could rest his cheek on the side of John's head comfortably. Another five minutes and they were there. Sherlock pulled back; regrettably he noted, and pulled his case with him.

He paid the cabbie and as John followed him, his own case in tow, he couldn't help but smile.

The hotel was quaint, not too large but big enough to accommodate a good number of guests. Cream coloured stone set with large wooden window frames of a bright white meant that the hotel itself didn't stand out from the rest along the sea front.

They made their way into the hotel through large double doors that were lighter than they looked. The reception area was marble, or made to look it. Their shoes clicked along the floor as they approached the front desk where a woman stood.

"Hello gentlemen, my name's Bessie, I'm the owner, have you got a reservation?"

Bessie was an older woman, about Mrs Hudson's age or maybe a little older. She was plump and short, blonde hair tied back tightly on her head and the dress she wore had obviously seen better days as even the pattern was fading from the fabric.

"Yes, under the name Watson," Sherlock told the woman with a polite smile. Bessie smiled back before tapping away on the computer, much the same way John typed, before handing the detective a key.

"Room 38, second floor, if there's a problem just ring down and I'll be up in a jiffy," she said kindly. John gave a smile back to the woman and once they'd both thanked her Sherlock led John over to the lift so that they wouldn't have to manage the stairs with their cases.

This was far too nice and John was slowly beginning to panic that he wouldn't be able to go back to normal once this week was out. He stayed moderately quiet until they'd reached the lift, letting out a sigh of relief as it pinged down onto the first floor.

"Good call, love. You'd never lug that case up the stairs; I'd end up carrying you," John teased, stepping into the lift and leaning on the metal rail along the back.

"That and you'd probably pass out from exhaustion." Sherlock bit back, smiling.

They were silent till they reached the second floor and Sherlock insisted upon rolling along John's case as well as his own to their room, giving John the key so that he could open the door.

Sherlock had already begun his study of the hotel, from the moment they stepped out of the cab. It was nearing eleven at night and Sherlock had resigned himself to the fact that he shouldn't go off investigating as it would cause suspicion, especially as John was meant to be his lover and they should want to spend their nights together.

Reaching out and taking his case, John threaded his fingers through Sherlock's spare hand and led him inside their room.

* * *

A:N - Slightly shorter than the previous chapter but don't worry, I have more on the way very soon :3


	3. The Hotel Room

_**The Hotel Room**_

* * *

The room wasn't big but it was adequate. The double bed was on the far left side wall. There was a wardrobe, small desk with which a television sat upon. To the right was a door that led to the bathroom and a small sofa just by the door. The walls were covered in ancient looking wallpaper that would have been a deep green when it was first done but was now a faded hue of its mother colour. The carpet was beige, as beige as could be and the colour of the wooden furniture seemed to match it.

Sherlock closed the door behind them and placed his case at the bottom of the bed. He took off his coat and scarf and hung them up in the wardrobe, noticing there was an extra blanket and pillow in there. John pushed his case across the floor with his foot, leaning it against the bottom of the bed beside Sherlock's

"I shall sleep on the sofa if you like," Sherlock said.

A small laugh passed John's lips and he sat down on the end of the bed, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt against the cosy heat of the room. He lay back on the bed, feet still on the floor, and untucked his shirt from his jeans, rubbing at the indent from his belt on his stomach.

"You don't have to, you know. I can take the sofa. But it's not as though we've never passed out next to each other before, on the sofa or wherever."

Sherlock chuckled and couldn't help but let his eyes roam over John's body, quickly looking away as he realised what he was doing.

"I don't feel like sleeping, you take the bed, I may join you later on," he said before opening his suitcase and fetching his toiletries and pyjama's, moving into the bathroom to change and brush his teeth.

John rolled onto his side to watch Sherlock pad into the bathroom. The other man had his back to him, so John didn't even try to hide the raking glance he gave the other, his eyes rolling over the plains of his back and over the curve of his arse.

No harm in looking, after all.

He pushed himself to sitting and unbuttoned his shirt properly, shrugging it from his shoulders and folding it behind him. He scooted forwards on his chest and leaned over the end of the bed, unzipping his case and dragging a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms from the depths of the case.

Sherlock, wearing nothing but a pair of silk pyjama bottoms emerged from the bathroom and nodded slightly at John when the man passed him to get ready for bed as well. Sherlock fetched the blanket from the wardrobe before settling himself on the sofa.

Despite the nap in the cab, John was asleep in seconds as soon as his head hit the pillow, duvet flung down at his hips as he tossed and turned in the night.

Sherlock sat up on the sofa, the blanket coiled around him for little over three hours before his mind eventually started to become fuzzy.

He needed sleep.

Annoyingly.

He sighed and before he knew it he was sinking into the comfortable mattress, pulling the duvet up around his and John's shoulders. He moved so that his back was pressed against John's back tightly and sighed. He nuzzled his face into the pillow and felt his eyes slipping closed.

John wasn't a light sleeper by any means - one of the reasons he was such a good flatmate for Sherlock, being able to sleep through most of his nights playing the violin loudly downstairs - but John's subconscious felt the cool back slide against his own. The doctor rolled around in his sleep, tucking his head in between Sherlock's shoulder blades with a contented sigh. His arms made their way around Sherlock's waist, his legs tangling with the longer ones belonging to the consulting detective. A soft, approving hum echoed in the back of his throat, turning into a light snore. Sherlock smiled slightly and decided there could be no harm in this as long as he rose before John did. He allowed himself the luxury of John's warmth and arms as he slipped into a deep sleep.

It was half eight on the dot when Sherlock woke up. He grumbled slightly as light hit him in the face from where neither of them had closed the curtains. He noticed John's warmth was still surrounding him but the breathing against his back was not in the rhythm of sleep. John was awake and apparently content to simply lie like this. Sherlock filed away this new information before his mind instantly went to what the day would hold and the case. The bait had been set, themselves being the bait. First he would examine the room, then the hotel, maybe sending John off to talk with some of the staff, the owner maybe, better left to John to deal with people.

John had been awake early, an old army habit that refused to leave which would always vex John; he was very, _very_ fond of his sleep.

Once he noted Sherlock was awake he smiled and pulled away from where he'd been resting his cheek on the man's spine.

"G'morning," his voice was rough with sleep, "sleep well? If you slept, obviously."

Sherlock rolled onto his stomach and stretched languidly.

"I slept yes, and very well," he replied before sitting up in bed and stifling a yawn, "I was thinking about the case, I'll need you to try and see if you can find out as much as you can about the hotel, the owners etcetera."

He stood up and moved over to look out of the window to survey their surroundings, his body blocking out the light to John and causing an ethereal glow to cascade over his porcelain skin, hair illuminated so that the deep brown hues were seen at the edge of his curls.

Rolling onto his back, John stretched out across the bed and ran a hand down his chest, dispelling the stiffness from his sleepy skin. He knuckled his eyes and looked over at Sherlock, licking his lips subconsciously as his eyes wandered again, taking in the exposed skin he was seeing.

Sure, he'd seen Sherlock shirtless before and sometimes close to stark bollock naked - bit hard not to when he was wandering around the flat in a sheet sometimes or coming out of the bathroom thinking John isn't in, towel barely clutched around his bony hips - but this was something else. He swallowed and sat up, pushing back the provocative thoughts that had scuttled into the forefront of his mind.

"Right, we could always have looked them up, y'know? I can do some people work, it's not a problem. What's your plan for the day then?"

Sherlock turned and moved away from the window.

"Yes but the information you find on the internet is usually very different to that of the rumours you hear from word of mouth," Sherlock said. He went over to his case, bending over to pick out some clothes.

"I shall inspect the room, see if there are any clues to be found, also I shall search around the hotel, we have a week and as far as I know we are the only guests who are thought to be homosexual, meaning there is no rush as no one is in danger."

John rolled his eyes and sighed.

"You mean, beyond us? Well, that's reassuring."

He pulled himself onto his knees and crawled down the bed, flopping onto his stomach as Sherlock bent over into his case. He met his gaze for a brief moment before his mind decided to shove itself into the gutter, reminding him what parts of his best friend's anatomy he was currently in line with. John felt his ears heat and he ducked into his own case, drawing out clean clothes before pushing himself up, gun toppling out onto the floor.

"Doesn't hurt to be prepared." He explained vaguely.

When John's gun dropped to the floor, Sherlock simply smiled and pulled back another of his shirts inside his own case to reveal his gun.

John moved into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He left the door open as it warmed up, leaning on the sink to talk to him.

"Right, so you'll go all Scooby Doo around the hotel, and I'll see what the locals think. Sounds like a good enough plan to me."

"My plan's are always good," Sherlock commented as he slowly slipped his pyjama bottoms down over his hips, letting them fall to the floor, his back to the other man.

"We should probably meet to go out for lunch, keep up the guise of our relationship, twelve o'clock in the lobby?" He asked as he slowly let his underwear fall to the floor as well.

John had run himself a glass of water by the time Sherlock had finished talking and he dragged his gaze from the shower to the other man. John's eyes widened and he all but choked on the water in his mouth, coughing as he covered his lips with his hand. He swallowed despite the slight burn coming from choking and set the glass aside. He tore his eyes away from the pristine, pale arse that was now being presented to him. John turned to the shower and, dropping his pyjamas and pants in one swift movement, moved under the spray. He ruffled the hot water through his hair and let his hands glide over his back; trying to calm himself down and think of anything but the completely bare flesh he'd just seen.

"Twelve sounds good. I'll see what the locals know and make some notes. Just don't get us thrown out with your snooping."

Sherlock pulled on his clean underwear and saw John had left the door open as he showered. Without a second thought, he moved over to the bathroom and stood inside while John was showering before proceeding to preen himself in the mirror, running his hands through his hair to comb it back.

John went to reach out of the shower and over to the sink to get his toothbrush but jumped and almost fell out of the shower.

"I know we're playing a couple but this is a bit much," John exclaimed which caused Sherlock to just glance over at him, subtly letting his eyes rake over John's wet skin, or what he could see of it thanks to the curtain obscuring his view.

Oddly, despite his protests, John couldn't find himself caring, simply picking up his toothbrush and brushing his teeth as he stood under the jet of water, glancing at Sherlock in the mirror every now and then.

Once Sherlock was finished up in the bathroom he left, shutting the door behind him as he began to dress. He pulled on his trousers and was about to button up his shirt when he stopped.

The room was silent. Completely so.

He started moving around the room, tapping on the walls before somehow managing to get himself behind the wardrobe by the time John came out of the bedroom and letting out a waft of humid air from the shower.

John looked over when he heard movement from behind the wardrobe and raised his eyebrow as he pulled on his underwear and jeans.

"How do you even do that? Are you secretly the elastic man, Sherlock?" John laughed, moving closer and peering in on the other man.

Sherlock slid out from behind the wardrobe, brushing his body past John's and making sure to run a hand up John's thigh cheekily.

"I'm very flexible," he said simply, smirking as he moved to the other side of the wardrobe and peered in at the space where he'd just been. He looked down and noticed he had dust on his chest. He grimaced and moved over to the mirror that was mounted on the wall next to the bed. He rubbed at his bare chest, trying to get the dust off his skin as he grumbled about poor cleaning staff.

"The walls connecting the rooms are very thick, you would struggle to hear a commotion if you were in the next room and only a very loud scream would alert you to anything, I couldn't even hear the shower when I shut the bathroom door," he commented, looking at John through the mirror.

John nodded slightly before he looked at Sherlock's ministrations and rolled his eyes.

"You're only making it worse- Stop rubbing it! Oh my God, come here-" John slipped his hands around Sherlock's chest, running his hands across the dusty skin and brushing gently, knocking the dust away. He ignored the lewd comment he could've made about loud screams, focusing on getting rid of the grey smudges staining Sherlock's skin.

John wasn't the only one trying to ignore certain things. John's hands felt divine on Sherlock's skin.

"Thank you, dear," he said with a chuckle as he pressed a kiss to John's forehead. He buttoned up his shirt and pulled back, tucking it into his trousers and moving over to the window, opening it wide and leaning out to survey the surrounding area, if anyone would be able to climb up or the like. He realised with a smirk that he was bent over out of the window and made sure to stick his arse out even more, his trousers clinging to him and revealing his lean figure.

John shook his head in amusement and grabbed his jacket and phone, pressing his gun into the inside pocket of his jacket and strapping it into the holster he had stitched there. The doctor walked over, leaned against Sherlock's arse and reached over his back, straightening out Sherlock's collar and smoothing it down. Sherlock nestled back a bit against John and smirked when he saw a slight blush to the man's cheeks as he moved away.

"I'll head off and talk to the locals then, love," John spoke teasingly as he reached the door, "I'll see you at twelve?"

Sherlock straightened up, looked over at John and nodded before he turned back to the window, examining the glass this time, running his fingers over the surface. John smiled fondly at Sherlock as the man turned away from him before he closed the door behind him and dug his hands into his pockets, taking the stairs down to the lobby.

* * *

**A/N - Get ready for some good old fashioned flirting and couple-acting in then next chapter!**


	4. The Investigation (Part One)

_**The Investigation (Part One)**_

* * *

"Good morning, sir," Bessie said cheerfully from behind the desk as John emerged from the stairs. The doctor smiled and moved over to her.

"Morning, I'm wondering if you can help me," John said. The elderly woman smiled and nodded; putting down her pen she was holding and gesturing for John to continue.

"Well what type of things could someone do here, you know, to kill a couple of hours?"

Bessie chuckled and smiled.

"The pier will be nice this time, before the crowds are out, my daughter used to say it was always nice if a little chilly from the sea air," she replied. John smiled and nodded slightly.

"Well that does sound rather nice. So your daughter doesn't live here anymore?"

Bessie shook her head.

"No, her and my son moved away last year, it's just myself and my husband here now," she replied. John nodded along and smiled at the woman.

"So what do you and your husband do when you're not working? Me and my partner are here for our year anniversary and I want to do something special," John said, feeling his cheeks blush slightly and heart skip a beat with calling Sherlock his 'partner'. Bessie paused and hummed in thought before looking back at John.

"There's a lovely, romantic restaurant right in the centre of the pier that people like you would love," she said. John raised an eyebrow.

"People like me?"

Bessie nodded and smiled.

"Yes, you know, people like you and your partner," she replied. John decided not to push it and just gave her a fake smile.

"Well thank you, have a good day," he said before walking out into the fresh morning air.

John would've bet a fiver then and there that it was her, that she was the killer.

He sighed peacefully as he walked along the high street. It proved mostly fruitless.

After talking to several locals and beach performers, mentioning where he and Sherlock were staying and such, John noted that the locals didn't seem to like Bessie all too much.

They labelled her as someone who was infinitely pushy and opinionated and as someone who didn't get involved in the community at all; beyond her contribution to the tourism board of course.

He walked around for a little longer, taking in the rainbow banners hanging from the fronts of clubs and shops, smiling to himself at the general acceptance of the place.

John eventually sat down on a wall after buying himself an ice-cream, checking his watch.

Eleven-thirty.

He had time to relax for a little bit before meeting Sherlock for lunch, and he did have a soft spot for the beach.

* * *

After John had left and once Sherlock had finished with the window; and their room in general, he went about searching the hotel. He pocketed the room key and left.

No CCTV.

Two floors, twenty rooms on each floor, forty rooms in total.

He met some of the other guests, polite chit-chat; yes he was capable of it when he needed to be, he'd tell John later, John would be pleased.

He came across an electronically locked door. After making sure no one was around and he could hear no one inside he keyed in the pass code, finding it out thanks to the amount of fading on each number indicating which ones had been used the most, after that it was child's play.

Inside was...not something he was expecting.

He'd have to tell John about this later.

Sherlock made it out of their room at five to twelve. His mind was racing with new information, new predictions and new variables and he almost bumped into one of the maids. He flashed her, what he hoped to be, an apologetic smile and she fluttered her eye lashes at him.

He politely informed her of his 'partner' and their relationship before she sighed and continued on with her work.

Sherlock first went into their room, fetching his wallet and pulling on his coat and scarf. He was rather looking forward to seeing John, even if he couldn't tell him about the case out in the open he simply enjoyed the man's company.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to control his mop of curls as he made his way down the stairs this time to meet John in the lobby.

* * *

**A/N - Couple-y things next chapter! Promise! xx**


	5. The Public Performance

_**The Public Performance**_

* * *

At ten to twelve, John moved up from the sea front, happily licking his way through his second ice-cream.

He couldn't help it; he was like an excitable five-year-old when it came to beaches and sunshine, even if it was a little cooler than usual. He made his way up to the hotel again and into the lobby, spotting Sherlock with a grin.

He moved towards him, still licking idly at his almost finished ice-cream, the cylindrical 'milk lolly' close to the wooden stick now. John leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek, wiping the smudge of white from his 'lover's' cheek with a laugh.

"Afternoon love, have a good morning?"

Sherlock grinned and leaned down, stealing a lick to John's ice cream.

"Very productive, a lot to tell you," Sherlock said quietly and took John's free hand in his; intertwining their fingers, "I was thinking maybe you could show me around outside the hotel, I can see you've thoroughly enjoyed yourself."

He could feel the eyes of someone and out of his peripheral vision he could see an older man sitting behind the desk.

Must be the owner's husband.

He ignored the stare and gave another lick of the ice cream.

"Hey, get your own," John teased, moving his ice lolly out of Sherlock's reach.

He loosened his hand from Sherlock's, opting to slide it around his waist and curl his fingers on his hip instead, keeping him close. He noticed the older man staring and, for once, genuinely didn't give a toss. He licked and sucked at his ice-cream, winking at Sherlock as they left the hotel and moved out into the increasing sunlight, heading towards the famous Brighton Pier.

"And I did enjoy myself, actually. Always been a sucker for the seaside."

Sherlock slipped his own arm around John's shoulders and chuckled at the man before pressing a kiss to his temple.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, I must admit this makes a rather...tolerable change from London," Sherlock commented, taking in the sights around him. It was much quieter than London and, while there were lots of people going about and things to observe, Sherlock couldn't find himself concentrating properly on anything other than John almost pressed against his side.

"Mm, can I record you saying that?" John teased, finishing his ice-cream and tossing the stick into a nearby bin expertly.

"Seriously, the great Sherlock Holmes doesn't mind the peace of the seaside, breaking headlines."

He laughed as he shook his head, pecking a few kisses to the underside of Sherlock's jaw as they walked. This was fantastic and he knew now that he would never be able to look at the two of them normally again. He wanted this to be a permanent fixture, and he accepted the thought.

"We should go down to the sand later on, might even push you in the sea," Sherlock suddenly said with a grin.

"Push me in the sea? Please, I have swimming gear in my case, I'd just enjoy it. Then again, so would you. I reckon you'd _love_ the sight of me coming out of the sea, your own personal little beach bum, hmm?"

John was enjoying teasing Sherlock far too much, especially as he purred that into his ear.

Sherlock let his hand trail down John's back and squeezed his arse, well aware that someone might see him doing it.

"Well you _do_ have a rather gorgeous behind," he teased back.

This all felt extremely natural and it didn't feel like they were acting any more. This thought was...rather frightening to Sherlock if he was going to be honest. He never thought he'd feel this way about someone let alone someone he lived with and who he was currently faking a relationship with.

John jumped at the hand squeezing his bum, the tops of his ears turning near scarlet as he chuckled.

The noise sounded a little nervous even to him, but only because he'd not been expecting the gesture. He pushed back lightly into Sherlock's hand, settling a hand on the man's chest and brushing his fingertips across it, fairly sure he could feel every inch of his skin beneath his tight shirt, muscles, nipples and all. John pecked another kiss to his jaw, lightly grazing the skin with his teeth, winking at him.

"Aren't you lucky it's all yours then? If anyone else tried that, they'd get a smack, but not you love, _obviously_."

This was slowly moving out of the realms of faking it, if only on his part, and John could feel it happening. He wasn't sure whether to be terrified or excited at the prospect of finally allowing himself to admit he wanted Sherlock.

Sherlock smirked and decided to leave his hand on John's arse. He slipped it into John's jeans back pocket and let his palm just rest against the man's arse.

"Oh very lucky, luckiest man alive at least," Sherlock said with a smile and leant down, kissing John's forehead then pecking his nose affectionately, "I thought we could have dinner in the hotel's restaurant tonight, my treat of course."

John was repeating the same thing over and over and over in his head: Must not kiss him.

"That sounds lovely, any chance to show people how gorgeous you look in a suit when you've made an effort, of course."

Must not kiss him.

It hadn't even been twenty-four hours yet and he was already feeling the overwhelming urge to snog this genius man into oblivion.

Bit not good.

He chuckled at the kiss to his nose, poking his tongue out at him in childish retaliation, wriggling the tip petulantly.

The hand on Sherlock's chest stayed put, stroking lazy, idle lines as they walked along the wall. They probably looked like one of those couples in the holiday brochures, the ones that made everyone feel either sick or envious. John laughed at the thought before shaking his head.

"After this week...we should holiday again somewhere, to another beach of course, seeing as you like them so much," Sherlock commented, looking down as he heard John laugh.

At the mention of another holiday, John's eyebrows shot up to his hairline and he grinned.

"Take up your brother's offer of shipping us to the Maldives, maybe? He's got an island, after all, no-one to disturb us and no tedious tourists."

It was moments like that, just walking and talking, planning something so obviously not just for best friends, where John was able to forget about the dangerous nature of the case they were wrapped up in.

"I wouldn't give my brother the satisfaction; his island would most likely be crawling with people only there to watch us," Sherlock scoffed before giving John a smirk, "I'd want to take you somewhere private, keep you all to myself."

He gave a contented sigh and looked down at John, just taking in the man's handsome face.

"Mummy has a summer house in the Caribbean I'm sure she'd let us stay at," he mused, thoroughly enjoying the thought of John in swimming trunks.

John noted the pensive look on Sherlock's face and grinned cheekily.

"Oi! Stop imagining me in swimwear, we're in public," he chided playfully.

Sherlock laughed at that comment. He squeezed John's arse, thanks to the hand still in John's back pocket.

"Spoil sport," he teased as he shook his head lightly to rid himself of the image of John in swimwear.

John smiled and rested his head on the side of Sherlock's shoulder.

"But yeah, I'd like that, another holiday, and the Caribbean definitely sounds better than Brighton," he said and earned a hum of agreement and approval from Sherlock, feeling the vibrations through his cheek.

* * *

They ended up in an arcade, surrounded by 2p machines, side stalls and other arcade games. John just had to give Sherlock this look; this look that Sherlock thought shouldn't have been able to be so persuasive.

"Fine," he sighed and John grinned before grabbing his hand and dragging him off to play the games.

* * *

**A/N - See? Couple-y stuff ^_^ Getting ready and geared up for more couple-y stuff and then we'll delve deeper into the case! xx**


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